


because absence is the only constant thing

by majesdane



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-14
Updated: 2009-01-14
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They are miles and miles from where they should be.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	because absence is the only constant thing

 

if i had a camera, i'd take a picture of you every day. that way i'd remember how you looked every single day of your life.  
\-- _the history of love_ , nicole krauss

 

They are quiet, still. There is Marni reading to her on lazy weekend afternoons, voice smooth and confident, before they both doze off, Mag's head in Marni's lap, the book split open over the edge of the couch, spine broken, to keep the place. Mag wakes to find Marni still sleeping; she sits up and kisses Marni as lightly as she can, over and over until Marni finally wakes up, kissing Mag back, grinning and tasting of oranges. All the blood seems to come rushing to Mag's head; it makes her feel dizzy and out of breath.

It is Marni grabbing the front of Mag's sweatshirt and pulling her in for a kiss, laughing as she does so. Mag thinks of warm spring evenings when they laid on the grass in Marni's backyard, trying to come up with ways to memorize lessons for their high school finals. It is the strong taste of mint and lemons in Marni's mouth, from brushing her teeth, smiling, while Mag reclines on the bed, hair undone, green and blue ribbons lying discarded on the nightstand, thin nightgown sticking to her skin in the heat of the June night.

Marni's skin is warm and pale, in the mornings when Mag wakes and presses a kiss to her shoulder; Mag wishes that it could always be this way. It is Marni's palm pressed flat against hers, fingers laced together. Marni's hands, soft and gentle against her skin, move in all the ways that undo her, and even the moments that move in slow motion are too fast. She wants to remember all of this, wants to write a novel in the form of Marni, even if she can't find the right words to describe how Marni looks in the warm morning sunlight; she is sure her hands know Marni better than her eyes ever will.

The stone wall of the mausoleum is cool against her palm; it makes her think of vanilla ice cream and Marni's lips against hers, when they walked along the pier the autumn that they were college freshmen. The door is new and auburn and the color of Marni's hair; the handle is brass and bright in the fading sunlight. It is the poem that Mag found tucked away in her dresser drawer between her blouses, in Marni's handwriting, lines of roses and stars and things that don't last as long as they should. It is the white cane that falls out of her closet and suddenly seems so unfamiliar to her.

Underneath the table, Marni's hand settles on Mag's thigh, fingers tracing the words that they don't say out loud. There is a kind of familiarity, when they duck into the coat room, Marni's breath hot on Mag's ear and her hands on Mag's waist. It is the song playing on the radio when Marni kisses her in the backseat of her car, the ache that cuts so deep inside her that she doesn't think the wound will ever heal properly. This feels like the kind of thing that is meant to last forever; it is a feeling that grips her heart and makes her want to hold onto Marni even tighter.

Marni's shirt lies tucked away with Mag's things, tumbling out of her suitcase when she unpacks. It smells like lilacs and soap when she presses it to her face and breathes in deeply. It is Marni's pillow on her bed, the case pale blue and wrinkled and smelling faintly of the ocean; Marni says it is the color of Mag's eyes in the moonlight. Marni's painted lips are the red of the car she drove in eleventh grade, the roses in the garden in the backyard of the house she shares with Nathan.

Mag would like to fashion this into something secret, something untold; she would like to whisper it in Marni's ear in when they are both exhausted, bodies worn out and aching. It isn't right for Marni to kiss her so openly; she wants to be pinned to the wall and kissed in the shadows, in secret, hard enough to leave her breathless. It is not enough as they are right now, soft and gentle and patient. They should be rough and fierce and needy; Mag wants to be able to see the way Marni bruises her, dark purple and gray marks on her skin, instead of just feeling it.

It is the evening of all their evenings together, when they lie on the couch and listen to the rain falling. There is something that wraps around Mag's heart, so tight it hurts sometimes. It is what presses her to the bed at night, keeps her heart pounding and her head racing. Her breath sometimes gets caught in her throat, along with all her words; she finds herself choking on them. It is life and death and everything in between, when Marni makes her see stars and fireworks behind her eyelids.

There is a kind of emptiness in her heart, the vast space that is left when they are parted. They are miles and miles from where they should be; with her hands on the map, she can trace the distance between them with her fingertips. It does not feel as if they are quite so far away like this. There is the empty space on the bed at home that she can never seem to fill; the sheets remain cool and untouched and it feels like all of this is breaking.

She watches Marni dance, in the cool, distant way that is nothing more than a simple practiced gesture, the way Marni's off-white dress swirls about her thighs and how her diamonds earrings sparkle when the light catches them. There is a sharp click of her heels against the freshly polished hardwood floor. It is Marni smiling at Mag from across in the room while she sips champagne that makes Mag feel like she is being crushed, trapped in on all sides. It is Mag standing at the edge of the pond a mile down the road from her parent's summer house up north, bare feet in the water, where Marni sighs and embraces her from behind, chin on Mag's shoulder.

It is Mag walking through Central Park trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue while Marni giggles and tugs her to the ground; there is the sudden coldness as snow gets into her sneakers.


End file.
